


convince me

by SidewaysClarinet



Series: topping and domming the aot men [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Dom/sub, Gender-neutral Reader, Humiliation, Other, POV Second Person, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, characters r all 18+, i firmly believe that bert crying during sex is a consistent thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28663686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidewaysClarinet/pseuds/SidewaysClarinet
Summary: A supply closet doesn't necessarily seem like the sexiest place for a scene, but you guess Bertholdt is desperate enough to not care.-alternatively titled: there is such a lack of kink material geared towards the tops in the fandoms so *taps fic* tops and doms! come get y'all juice!
Relationships: Bertolt Hoover/Reader
Series: topping and domming the aot men [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102046
Comments: 11
Kudos: 139





	convince me

**Author's Note:**

> there was such a void for aot content for tops/doms in the fandoms so today i present you,,, this <3 and tomorrow?? who knows <3

“Do you have any time today?”

The whisper comes from behind you, a little high up and to the left. You look up from the clipboard in your hands—something about counting the Survey Corps’ available blades, since the higher-ups like to skimp out on supplies for you all—to see Bertholdt hovering just over your shoulder. You raise an eyebrow; it certainly isn’t like him to come seeking you out during the day when he should be getting to his own chores. It takes you only a second longer to see the nervous shuffling of his feet, the curl of his shoulders inwards like he’s expecting to get caught and chided.

It’s the light dusting of pink across his cheeks that really clues you in. A grin starts to creep across your lips. “I might, depending on what it is. Why? You need somethin’, sweetheart?”

You can see Bertholdt purse his lips, biting at the inside of his mouth. He looks about the supply room, and you don’t really have the heart to tell him that no one’s gonna be coming by any time soon. Your training wheels got taken off weeks ago, and now no one really gives a shit what you do so long as your assignments get done. That would be too easy, though; it’s much more entertaining to see him hesitantly shuffle closer to you, skittish like a deer.

“We haven’t had any privacy in a couple of days,” he says, quiet. “...I missed you.”

“Did you, now?” you hum. 

He nods, sidling closer to you to run his fingers through your belt loops. You fight back a smile, faking an impassive glance around the room just to double check that there really isn’t anyone else around. There aren’t any windows in the supply room, and the rack of 3DM gear to your right blocks off the view from the door. It’s as private as private goes for nameless soldiers like yourselves, and so you back up, taking him with you, until the backs of your knees hit the stacked crates of blades behind you.

It’s a quick hop up, and then you’re perched on the crates, putting you at eye level with Bertholdt. You reach down to grab his hands, yanking him forward in a swift motion that has him yelping. His knees bang against the crates and he hisses, but then your hands are traveling up his forearms, slow and teasing. His breath catches, and his cheeks darken as your fingers trace feather-light trails up his sleeves and to his shoulders, up the sensitive column of his neck to cup his cheeks.

You blink slow, grinning, as his dark eyes trail down to your lips. He licks his own, swallowing in a clear display of need. God, you’d be biting a trail up his throat in a heartbeat if it weren’t so much more fun to rile him up first.

“Did you really miss me? Or just the sex?” you ask him, teasing. Bertholdt’s hands freeze in their path towards your waist, and he looks up at you, wide-eyed.

“I- no, it was you, I missed you,” he rushes to say, before hesitating. “And… and the sex, but I missed you more.”

Now that his attention is on you, you let the warmth from your eyes disappear, leaving only cold amusement. “I don’t believe you.” You slide one hand up into his hair as he stutters on a breath, grabbing the strands so tightly that it jerks his head to the side, exposing his throat. “I think you’re lying to me, Bertl.”

“I’m not, I swear,” he breathes. His pupils are dilated, blown wide, and he nuzzles into your hand. You grip his hair tighter, and he squeaks, stilling suddenly. You’re not falling for it, not so easily. “Please, I promise!”

You hum again, and when Bertholdt curls into your hand again, you loosen your grip enough to let him. He presses kisses to your palm, and you let him kiss up to your wrist before you speak again. “Prove it.”

He looks at you, all at once grateful and nervous. His hands curl around your hips when he leans in, rubbing his thumbs across your waistband as his lips instead press to your neck. You let yourself smile now that he can’t see it, and you can’t really help it. The way that he latches onto your neck, eager to please, makes your heart hum with satisfaction. 

You let your hands rest lazily on the crate, refusing to touch or encourage him. Bertholdt certainly notices— there’s an anxious breath against your neck before his hands reach up to dip beneath your turtleneck, and his palms are already damp with sweat when they run up the planes of your stomach.

You really can’t help the urge to snicker. “God, you’re so eager. It’s pathetic, in a cute way, I guess.”

“I meant it,” he whispers, kissing your skin again. “I missed you.” Another kiss. “So much.”

“I’m still not convinced,” you say, faking boredom. “And really, we’re runnin’ out of time here. You better hope no one walks in before you convince me, I’ll leave you here all flushed and panting and pathetic.”

His breath hitches again, and then he’s in motion. He kneels down to the ground, putting him at about your waist level, and his eyes zero in to your legs. You watch him, fighting down your grin, as his desperate eyes trail up your thighs and to the area between, where the seam and zipper of your pants lay. It’s clear what he wants; your own pulse starts to race as you watch him struggle to put his desires into words.

“Can I use my mouth?” he asks. Bertholdt’s cheeks are scarlet at this point, but he doesn’t take it back.

“You haven’t earned it yet,” you tell him, even though you’d  _ really  _ like to see him buried between your legs, breathless and flushed and desperate to get you off. But really, he reacts the best when all the attention is on him. He never knows what to do, how to react, and it always gets the prettiest noises out of him. “But I’ll tell you what you can do: you can think about what you’re missing out on while you jerk yourself off.”

Bertholdt looks up at you, hopeful but carefully restrained. “Can I cum?”

“Depends.” You give a noncommittal shrug. “Someone might walk in, and then I guess you’ll just have to wait for the next time we’re alone together.”

He swallows, biting at his lip before his need to get off supersedes his embarrassment, and he finally moves. You can hear the soft clinking of his belt buckle, and then his zipper as he pulls it down. You watch his face, curious, and you can see the exact moment that he finally gets a hand around his cock; his mouth parts in a little gasp, and his eyelids lower. The sound of his hand on his own skin reaches your ears, and it makes you chuckle again.

“You’re so shameless, you know,” you tell him. “You put on this sweet front, but you’re a pretty pathetic little horndog when it gets down to it, huh?”

His only response is a high-pitched breath, and his ears turn red. His eyes are darting between your lips and your clothed crotch, and you almost pity his desperate eagerness.

“Look at you. You’re depraved,” you murmur. 

Bertholdt gives a quiet, helpless moan in response, and you reach a hand down to cup his cheek again. He curls into it, but you’re moving your hand again as soon as he does, instead pressing two fingers up against his mouth. He looks up at you, a bit shy as he parts his lips for your fingertips to press in. His tongue is warm and wet, and it traces the ridges of your fingers, the curve of your nails, the skin of your knuckles in a way that steals your breath.

You can’t resist the urge to tease him further. “Not happy without your mouth occupied, huh? I wonder what everyone would think if they knew you couldn’t get off without being used at the same time.”

He finally whimpers, and the sound goes straight to your core. Your grin grows more feral, more hungry as his arm stutters in its movement. He really must have missed you, if he’s already this breathy and whiny. And you must have missed him as well, because you’re already considering cutting him a break that he certainly hasn’t earned yet. It’s fine, you’ll help him earn it.

You press your fingers down on Bertholdt’s tongue, running your fingertips back and down until you feel his throat. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut in his effort not to gag. He manages to avoid it, and you feel a swell of pride.

“Good boy,” you purr. He groans, and the sound vibrates deliciously up your wrist. His other hand holds on to your ankle, and you see something glisten at the corner of his eye just before a slip of a tear escapes. You barely get a good look at it before he swallows around your fingers, dragging your digits further down, and your mouth opens into an amazed little ‘o’ shape. “Ohh, you really are a good boy, aren’t you? I might even believe you now.”

Bertholdt has certainly earned his break, but you drag it out anyways. It’s cute as shit to see the way he tries to keep your fingers down, and judging by the frantic sounds of his hand around his own length, he’s got to be into it as much as you are. You try to imagine what his eager tongue would feel like on you, between your thighs, and it makes your stomach twist with arousal. He’d be just as sloppy as he’s being with your fingers now; dripping saliva from the corners of his mouth, moaning and panting through his nose in an attempt to subdue his gag reflex. 

He’s so good for you, such a good boy. 

You pull your fingers free, slowly dragging them down the length of his tongue until he releases you. His eyes finally open, dazed and glassy, and his heavy breaths fall free from his lips now. His chest is heaving, but he still presses a tender kiss to your fingertips just before you wipe them off on his jacket. His head falls down to your thigh, and he rubs his cheek along your pants, breath hitching and jumping with his whimpers. You thread your hand through his hair fondly.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” you say, rubbing a thumb along Bertholdt’s temple as he whines. “You want to cum, don’t you? What’s the magic word?”

He sucks in a desperate breath, and when he finally gets his words out, his voice is cracked and pitchy. “Please?”

“Please what?”

“Please, can I cum?” he begs, lifting his head up just enough to look at you. You brush your fingers over his cheeks and into his hair, watching him shiver and tremble. “Please, I- I’m so close, please-”

You lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, before slipping a hand beneath his chin- tilting his head back so you can get a good look at his expression.

“Well?” you say, grinning. “Go on.”

And he does- God, does he lose control. You watch, enraptured, as his eyes squeeze shut and his eyebrows furrow, his mouth falling open in a gasping moan. He jerks and shivers through his release, and you run your fingers over the furrows in his expression, pressing kisses to the more stubborn ones as he comes down. This is always your favorite part—seeing him come undone so beautifully. 

“That’s my good boy,” you murmur, kissing his nose. “You still got a brain in that empty head of yours, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Bertholdt breathes. He’s still flushed and breathless, but he’s not dropping; not yet, at least. In any case, better safe than sorry, so you keep easing down his hair with soft fingers, letting your lips linger on his forehead.

After a minute, he looks up at you, brows furrowed.

“You didn’t get off.”

“It’s fine,” you say, waving a hand about. You shoot him a wink and a smirk. “You can get me off next time, yeah? I’ll consider it a thank you for gifting you my time today.”

Bertholdt gives you a tremulous little smile, before nuzzling back into your thigh. “Thank you.”

You roll your eyes, more for show than anything, before giving him a pat on the head.

“Cute as this is, you need to get your spunk off the crates before Captain Levi starts snooping around.”

“Ah- crap!”

**Author's Note:**

> comments, criticisms, and requests are v much appreciated !! i'm on a self-assigned mission to top the aot men so i will def be doing more at some point
> 
> come find me on twt! (@yuri_otoko)


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